


run in the dark

by flimsy



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Melancholy, Sleepwalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-21
Updated: 2012-08-21
Packaged: 2017-11-12 15:07:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flimsy/pseuds/flimsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Louis sleepwalks, Harry never wakes him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	run in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> <3 to [sunfair](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sunfair/) for beta.

Harry wakes in the dead of the night from a sound by the bedroom door. He blinks blearily and checks his phone for the time. It's almost twelve, as usual, and Harry scoots over a little, making room under the covers. Louis stands by the door another few moments, hair sleep-tousled, then ducks his head and crawls into bed with Harry. 

"Hurry up," Harry says, rubbing his eyes; Louis' toes are cold and he lies down and turns onto his side, nose tucked against the crook of Harry's arm. His breathing is even and calm, and his lashes flutter against the top of his cheeks like tiny feathers. "Hey," Harry continues. "Good night, sleep tight and all that." He knows that Louis is fast asleep and can't hear him; Harry can barely hear himself over the sound of his heart racing in his ears.

"Good night," he repeats after a beat.

 

***

 

Sometimes Harry will come home at the break of dawn and find Louis on the sofa in pyjamas, watching the telly and maybe telling himself a story. Tonight is a night like that again. 

Harry smiles a little, fondly, and goes to sit beside Louis, cracking open the can of beer he got from the fridge. "Here again?" he says, taking a sip.

Louis laughs and shrugs. "I'm always here, Harry," he says. "You're never here, though."

"Well." Harry shrugs. "I'm always here, but you never remember the next day." He knows that Louis won't be able to remember this either. He'll wake up in the morning and Harry will make him breakfast and he'll be in a terrible mood because he hasn't actually slept much. Harry has tried waking him, but Louis would only give him an incredulous look and ask him what he's doing. Harry has tried telling Louis and that stopped it for a while, until Louis' brain obviously forgot everything again. It's not so bad, though, Harry has realised. They get to talk more than they usually do.

"I saw a good film tonight," Louis says. "It reminded me a lot of you. Then I had a really odd dream."

Harry bites his lip and takes another sip of beer. "You're still having a really odd dream, I assume," he says.

Louis smiles at him, eyes wide. "Maybe this is real," he says, "and everything else isn't. Have you ever thought about that?"

"That'd be nice." Harry empties his can and puts in on the table, then pulls his legs up onto the sofa. "I miss talking to you, Lou."

"Me too," Louis says. He sits up a little and puts his head on Harry's shoulder; his hair is soft and in his eyes. "We had a good run, did we not?"

"Mh," Harry agrees. Louis always talks about these things when he's sleepwalking; it's like he can't talk about it when he's awake, doesn't even want to remember when he's awake and then ends up spilling his guts in the dead of the night when all Harry wants to do is sleep. "Hey," he says finally, "maybe this time you'll remember tomorrow and we can go back to being normal."

Louis shrugs. "We'll see. I don't think so. Being awake is hard, you know."

Harry gives him a look and then can't help laughing. He gets up a moment later and grabs another beer from the fridge. When he returns Louis is curled up on the sofa, fast asleep.

 

***

Louis is up before Harry and when Harry wanders into the kitchen late the next morning, he finds him sitting at the table with a cup of coffee and the newspaper, his reading glasses on.

"Morning," he says and Louis looks up, all sharp blue eyes and skin glowing golden in the almost-midday-sun, and smiles.

"Late night?" he asks and Harry shrugs, ducking his head. He sets up the kettle and finds some peppermint tea, watching the birdsnest back of Louis' head.

"A bit," he says. "Stayed up for a little longer watching telly."

Louis grins at that, nodding slowly. "I had a shit night. Feels like I barely slept at all," he says. "I wasn't sleepwalking again, was I?"

Harry pours water into his cup and shakes his head, back turned so he doesn't have to lie to Louis' face so blatantly. "Nah, I'd tell you. Maybe it was the weather." The truth is, Harry doesn't want Louis to stop sleepwalking; he likes the quiet moments he gets now. He likes having Louis all to himself for a few hours or even minutes and likes him with his guard down, all sleepy and soft and pliant and almost awake. Harry doesn't want to let go.

 

***

 

Louis never stays. He never stayed with Harry when they were still together - left for his own bed after drowsing off, usually when Harry was already asleep, too close for comfort, too open and too vulnerable and not wanting to let Harry any closer than they were already. Harry knows these things because Louis has told him, whispered sleepwalking confessions in the dead of the night just before he leaves again.

Harry has realised that he should have been more patient; that Louis doesn't do head over heels, likes to dip in slowly and take his time, that Louis despite his facade needs more room for himself than the rest of them combined, so much room that he could never tell any of this to Harry's face because all Harry ever wanted was to have him and have all of him and nothing less because Louis owned all of him already.

Maybe this is why it all started; maybe Louis just wants to give Harry something in return when he really can't.

 

***

When Louis buys a flat, Harry begins counting the days; he spends his time with friends who make London seem like a fever dream, a haze of color and smoke and laughter, and if he's very honest with himself, he doesn't even want to wake up from it anymore.

Every night when he returns home, Louis is up again, wandering their flat in his pyjamas, barefoot and open like a book and Harry spends hours reading him, telling himself that he ought not to feel guilty, that he just needs a little something to mend the fissures threatening to split him all up and make him beg Louis to stay when he knows he shouldn't.

A few days before the movers are scheduled, Harry finds Louis in his bedroom just before dawn. He sits at the edge of the bed and Harry looks up at him, vision swimming with sleep.

"I don't want to go," Louis says. "I want to stay, but it's so hard, Harry. I hate the way you look at me like I've stolen your heart and chucked it in the bin."

Harry pushes his hair out of his eyes and sits up a little. "You kind of did," he says. "But I guess, I wasn't any better."

Louis laughs a little and then lies down, fitting his body against Harry's. "You're terribly pushy if you want to be."

Harry drapes his arm over Louis' waist and splays his fingers out on his stomach, rubbing gently. "I know. You've told me. Maybe I could be less pushy."

Louis shakes his head, nudging Harry's chin with his nose. "Maybe you could be pushy one last time."

"What?" Harry says, confused, but Louis sits up, blinking.

"I need go to bed," he says, voice uneven. "It's so terribly late and I need to be awake soon."

"Okay." Harry lets go, resisting the urge to ask him to stay.

 

***

 

As the moving date draws closer, Louis stops sleepwalking. Harry stays up late and waits for him to come, but he never does. He's cheery in the mornings, smiling away Harry's drowsiness, but Harry can't stop thinking, mind reeling.

The night before Louis is set to move out, Harry finds himself awake at three a.m. counting the creases in his comforter, the shadows on the wall and the number of corners on all of his furniture. When he's done and can't stand it anymore, he climbs to his feet and pads through the dark living room to Louis' bedroom.

The door isn't quite closed and Harry slips inside, watching Louis' sleeping form - legs twisted into the covers, arms over his head - for a while and then steps closer, heart racing.

"Lou," he says and watches Louis twitch in his sleep. "Louis," he repeats more loudly. "Louis Tomlinson, wake up."

Louis groans, turning onto his side, and Harry takes another step and sits at the foot of his bed´. He reaches out and grabs his calf to shake him a bit. Louis jerks awake, batting at him, eyes wide.

"Harry?" he says incredulous, clutching his chest. "What are you doing-"

"What if I told you," Harry says, "that I have things I need to say when we're both awake and will both remember them."

Louis tilts his head and frowns at him, face tired. "Is this is a joke? Have you gone mad?"

Harry smiles a little and shakes his head. "No. Maybe a little." He breathes out and meets Louis' eyes, chest tight. "Don't move out," he finally says. "Don't move out, please. Your moving out hurts me more than your staying here. I know you don't want to leave and I know that you feel like you need to go because of me, basically."

Louis stares at him some more and then his face falls; he draws his knees up to his chest and hides against them, all curled up and trying to become even smaller.

"It's okay," Harry continues. "I don't understand you very well, but I'd rather misunderstand you when you're here." Louis makes a little noise and Harry reaches out and touches his head, threading his fingers through Louis' hair, stroking lightly. "If you do go, please don't go because of me. But if you stay, please let it be because of me."

Louis looks up after a moment, face red. "You're really pushy."

"I know," Harry says with a smile. "Just enough, though."

Louis captures his hand, holding on. "We'll see," he says but is smiling when he does.

***


End file.
